Scattered Melodies
by Mjzell
Summary: There is no happy endings in reality, but sometimes, only sometimes, it's nice to pretend, to wonder how things could of happened, or maybe did happen, somewhere else then here. A collection of one shots revolving around Stan and Kenny. Rating may change.
1. Shameful Metaphors

_**A/N:**_ This is just going to be a collection of one of random ideas involving Stan/Kenny. It may range anywhere from Angst, Fluff, Smut, etc. I'm going to base almost all of them after songs, so if anyone wants to throw some ideas or songs in my direction, feel free to! The POV ranges from each chapter... There isn't _any_ dialogue in this chapter, BUT THERE WILL BE IN OTHERS! It really depends on what kind of genre the chapter is. :)

I own NOTHING, all right goes to the owners~

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><p><em><strong>Shameful Metaphors<strong>_

**constructed by Chevelle**

**Kenny's POV: Age 19**

**Angst: Nothing serious, light Stenny**

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><p>Fear. It's an interesting concept, the idea of an emotion so vast in levels, undetected unless sought out. Yet, it's always there, that <em>fear.<em>

I don't fear for myself, for nothing is left to worry about. My life is silent, a whisper hidden beneath all the others, the others who actually _matter. _I will live for a matter of time, do nothing worth while, die, and repeat. Once, when I was younger, I thought I could change the world. It was just a silly dream of a fourth-grader, but it still gave me hope. That ambition caused me to dress up and play the role of a hero, dance like a puppet for apathetic crowds who didn't even know how to care anymore.

Then it was over. For a single moment I had hoped, I had actually crossed my fingers and wished on a star for this _pain_ to be over, to either learn the truth or simply succumb permanently to death.

Nothing changed, because nothing _ever_ changes. There are those who have a chance, who have luck on their side, then there are those left to wander, left to wonder what went wrong and then wait for something new to happen. High School was the last chance, and yet all our futures were already planned out before we ever even had the idea to protest. We were too young then, our fates twisted behind our backs as we laughed at things we wouldn't remember the next day, because we were naive to the world then.

We were the inseparable quadruplet, Stan, Kyle, Cartman, and me, yet we still managed to be separated. We were just children growing up, learning to face reality and hold each other up when life threatened to tear us apart. Cartman drifted away, threw himself into sports obsessively, turned the fat into muscle, his anger into physical labor. He was the quarterback, the top student of academics, the jock, any and all of the names fit the new person he had become.

Kyle turned to academics, the only place were life was as simple as the words written there. Stress was his weakness, but he was happy in a reality were things were exactly as stated, were every aspect had an exact answer, versus the complex ones the world had to offer. He was always the one who would move on from this god awful place, who had so much to offer to the world.

Stan? He shattered inwards, wrapped himself in a morose silence, not depressed but... withdrawn. Lost on where he stood, constantly losing his footing and having to crawl from where he had fallen. Music became his release, he became absorbed in an instrument the moment he picked it up, whether it be the violin or the guitar, two instruments he forced himself to learn until he collapsed of exhaustion, the melodies became his life. It kept him out of trouble and yet... He was still wandering, much like I was. There was no place designated for him.

I wish I could say I found something healthy for myself in high school that I turned to when I was alone and lost, like my three old friends had. Yet, any good thing I could of had, I ruined it by all the terrible things I chose to do. The story of my life right there... I taint all the good things, leaving only the dissolute twisted morals that I carry with me, for that's all I _know_ how to do. No, I didn't find something great in high school, I bended to the easy things. I took all the drugs there was to offer, fucked anything that walked, sold my body for the hell of it, drank myself into oblivion, committed suicide over 50 times in front of crowds for money, and tore down any person that tried to help me from the hell I had buried myself in.

There wasn't anything I thought was left living for.

I only ever had three _true_ great things in my life, and their places in my heart were wavered, strained, and stained. Art used to be something I loved, it could have been my future if I would have been smart enough to try and pursue it. But no, I punched my art teacher in the face and screwed his daughter afterwords. I gave up trying, gave up commitment, because I thought I knew everything about life, and how there was no point in getting attached, for I'd just mess it up one way or another.

That was one of the empty places in my heart, my love for something that expressed myself, that was now lost somewhere far away. My little sister held another portion, the only girl in my life that actually mattered to me, because she was _mine_ to protect. _She_ was the one who got me clean from all the shit I had done, not some councilor, not another therapist, just the kid who needed to depend on her big brother, because their was no one else. Ruby _needed_ me to be there, so I promised I would be, in place of our fucked up parents, to save her from the hard shit in life, to hold her and tell her everything would be alright, when our "parents" finally ditched out on us, leaving us to defend ourselves.

I cleaned myself up, got a job, though I still sold my body, so that she wouldn't have to go through any of the things I had too. I kept her fed, tried to replace what she couldn't have with things that would make her happy, and stayed with her every moment. I couldn't leave her... I _wouldn't_ leave her. I gave up my dreams of leaving South Park, instead I collected that degree from the principle with a sad smile, and humbled myself to work as a greaser at the gas station, all for her.

Then... their was Stan. The quiet boy with the raven black hair and the slate grey eyes, the one who _had_ so much going for him, the one who could _do_ so much, _change_ so much.

The one who graduated high school only to disappear. His parents had no clue where he went, for no collages were attended in his name, no credit cards or checks were written by him, no letters, calls, or e-mails. He was just... gone.

I knew he would come back though. South Park was a dangerous and sick drug, a fucked up place that was addicting, a beacon for the lost souls that would always drag them back screaming.

And sure enough, about a year later those grey eyes were staring into mine again, a grin on his face that I hadn't seen since we were kids, a smile that made something unfamiliar flutter through my stomach. He was home again, but everyone he had known had moved on, except me. He was looking for something familiar, something comfortable.

I was looking for the exact opposite, and I found that in those grey eyes.

Yet, why? Why does every word, every _interaction_, between us feel so strong, so loud, and yet our lives make no sound? We wander hand in hand, yet no one knows us, we are simply ghosts passing through. Our chains restrict us here, but no ones sees. We are alone.

I don't fear for myself, because all I have to worry about is for _him_. At the end of the day, I just have to keep those grey eyes dreaming, keep his heart rate the metronome of his precious music. I have to keep him breathing, keep him away from the pain. That's _my_ destiny, not his.

Life doesn't matter until there is someone else there to _make_ it matter.

_That's_ why I'll continue to write these Shameful Metaphors.


	2. Facedown

**A/N: **Sorry that it's been forever since I updated. Life is... complicated. Hopefully, you're still interested, and you'll like this. ;3 Please review and give me your thoughts~! I'm going to write something happy next time, by the way... Give me any songs that you would like me to check out also.

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><p><strong>Facedown<strong>

**Constructed by Red Jumpsuit Apparatus**

**Kenny's POV: Age around 21**

**Angst. Completely. One-sided Stenny  
><strong>

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><p>"You can't stay quiet forever."<p>

My hands tightened slightly on the leather steering wheel, knuckles turning a painful white as my eyes flickered away from the road to glance at you. You did not seem to react to my words, just simply continued to watch the scenery flicker past from your window seat, the city lights dancing on your glossed eyes. I'd seen that look too many times before, each time you limped to me with new colors blossoming on your skinny frame, with neighbors of crisscrossed gashes completing this sad image. One day it may be a black eye contrasting from your sickly pale face, the next a dislocated bone you came to get fixed, coming to me solely because you feel that there is no one else there.

Maybe you're right.

"Stan... This isn't gonna solve anah'thin'." This time your steel eyes locked with mine for a split second through the dimmed glass reflection, before fading back into viewing the darkening world outside. A sigh fell flatly out of my lips as I stared a head, driving without a real sense of urgency, both of us knowing exactly where this road was going to take us.

The silence was deafening, almost stifling as my emotions soured with every block that passed us by. Stan used to be so strong, so independent and free. He was a beauty in his own way, a black haired god. Yet... now he was broken, a mere shade of that person. The smiles were strained, a hint dimmer than they should have been, his eyes a little too dull. He could fake it to the others, they ate in his little act without much thought, thinking the injuries were merely from his laborious job, the weariness from late nights with his boyfriend.

_If only they knew how close to the truth_ **_that_ **_really is..._

I knew there was something wrong from the very first moment, and I tried to talk to Stan when the first bruises set it. "_I don't want to talk about it..." _or "_It's nothing... Really, everything's alright, Kenny."_

It wouldn't be right if I acted, this was _Stan's_ problem, and it wasn't my place to interfere until he asked for the help he so desperately needed. Until then I would do as I always had, I would patch him up at ungodly times in the morning, let him crash with me, give him _everything_, and ask for absolutely nothing in return.

Simply because I loved him so _god damned much._

It fucking _hurt_ to stand back like a bitch, but I couldn't risk the chance. It killed me to see him so beaten down, so... abused. God... It killed me.

The rain was pounding on the windshield now, blurring the city into a swirling of splattered lights and colors. The sky was a pitch black, a midnight black that almost matched yours. Your whisper broke the silence so violently, like glass shattering against an abandoned pavement, your voice holding the same lost properties, yet was enough to startle me out of my thoughts.

"You know... don't you?"

His eyes were the clearest I'd seen them in so long, and they were steady as mine wavered to meet your steely gaze. All the words I had so carefully practiced died in my throat, choked me as I croaked out so plain of an answer.

"Yeah... Yeah I've known. For a long time..." I didn't want to press it, didn't want to drive you away by being too forward, too direct.

"Craig beats me."

That simple statement shattered the illusion we had been cradling for so long, shifted the ground we stood on as the truth was finally tumbling out your mouth, the only place that it ever truly needed to be told. This was always your story after all, not mine.

"He was so nice at first you know... He was perfect. _Too_ perfect I guess..." Stan's voice trailed off quietly, washing away like the rain outside. I pressed my lips together tightly, forcing back all the words I'd been holding in. He needed someone to listen now, I could do that.

Without even looking to see if I was going to answer, he continued, "It started, maybe... a month after we began dating. I was going to leave him, but... he needs me-", his light touch on my arm distracted me, his eyes focused so intently on mine. "He needs me. Ever since he lost Tweek to that horrible accident-"

"That's no excuse and you know it." The words came out sharper than I intended, my malice for Craig let loose for a moment. Stan flinched, his hand jerking away from me like he was burned.

"I-I know... I wish it was though." The rain was pouring from the sky, so much like the tears from your face that night. My heart twisted at the sight, but I couldn't wipe them away. _I _wasn't yours to do that.

The streets were fading, cutting off as we wandered down shitty alleyways into the rough side of town. I parked by a set of apartments with graffiti stained bricks, and dismal shades of gray. I looked at it in wonderment, thinking back to how you used to live in a house the size of all the apartments combined. Ironic, wasn't it? No... Just sad, so completely and utterly sad...

You didn't make a move to leave, and I didn't say anything as I watched the seconds pass by. One minute. Two. Five. Ten.

Thirty.

"...We're here Stan." His eyes opened slowly to stare out into that other world of his. Where maybe things were okay, like they used to be. He wasn't with us anymore, though he never was by the end of these long car rides. As he unbuckled the seat belt, I rested my hand on his shoulder.

Worry crept through me when he shivered through his coat, but I just pushed it away. There were so much more pressing things to worry about. "Stan... You don't have to go back. You can stay at my place tonight, if you wanna. It's fine... Don't make yourself do this." He shrugged off my hand and smiled blankly at me. "Nah, you take care of me enough, Kenny. Besides, I'm sure Dr. McCormick has other patients he needs to patch up."

When I started to protest, he cut me off abruptly. "Honestly Kenny, I'll be fine... I'll call you if anything happens, okay? Yes... _Anything_. I promise." I let him open the door and step out. Maybe I was wrong for trusting him. Should I have just grabbed him, thrown him back inside my car, and drove off? _Could _I have?

"Thanks Kenny... I-", the rest of his sentence was swallowed by the splattering rain, just as his body was covered by the darkness. More than anything, I wish I could have heard those last words, make them something I would have never forgot. It seems that's just not how my life was meant to go though.

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><p>That stormy night was the last time I saw Stan Marsh. The next morning a call was made, and his body was found by the neighbors outside the alleyway. He was beaten to a bloody pulp outside of the place he called home. There was not enough evidence to prove what had happened, and it was deemed a robbery gone wrong, though none of your money was taken.<p>

I couldn't bear to look at it. It couldn't be real if I couldn't see it.

His eyes were shut the next time I saw him. They fixed him up before they put him in the casket. I remember how peaceful he looked, and I felt _so _glad that his pain was over.

Even if it meant mine would never end.

I never cried for him. Stan was apart of me, so that day when they lowered him into the ground, a side of me had also died with him. I couldn't cry, because crying for yourself would only be selfish. Instead, after that day, I smiled for him, _laughed_ for him. I did things that Stan hadn't done and will never do again. Enjoying life as much as I could was one of those things.

It was bittersweet, but Stan always liked it that way.

I finally understand why he pretended that he lived in another world, somewhere else. Not because life was happier there, but because it wasn't _here, _in reality. Life is painful, an awful and beautiful thing. It's not easy, and it never will be, but it's still something cherished. Sometimes I wish that there was another place, somewhere that everything worked out for us. Where you got into my car, and all the words I held back finally came out. A place where I heard those last words you said.

A place in where you loved me just as much as I loved you.

Since that isn't true, instead, I'll just live _for_ you.

And maybe one day I'll see your steely blue eyes again.


End file.
